She crossed her arms in front of her chest. And while he appreciated the way her breasts lifted, he raised his gaze to meet hers.
“I’m not hiring,” he lied. Big Buck’s needed a waitress or two, another bartender, and a dishwasher to keep up with the crowds pouring in from the nearby university, desperate to bump and grind to house music. But if she worked here, well hell, then he’d have another reason he shouldn’t touch her. He had a rule about messing around with his female employees. It was bad business. He’d worked too hard to turn Big Buck’s into something to fool around with a waitress or a bartender.
She raised an eyebrow and nodded to the Help Wanted sign he’d put up in the window. “Someone put that up without asking you?”
Shit.
“I recently filled the position,” he said, searching for an excuse that didn’t touch on the truth.
“I’m too late.” She shook her head. “Perfect. I guess I should have gotten up the nerve to come home a few days ago.”
He glanced over her shoulder and saw a red Mini parked beside his truck. It looked like a toy next to his F–250. And apart from the driver’s side, every cubic inch appeared stuffed with bags.
“I thought you liked Portland. Greg from the station said you haven’t been back here in a few years,” he said, knowing he should close the door and end the conversation. If he let her in, if he handed her an application followed by a Big Buck’s apron, he couldn’t touch her. That wasn’t much different from the past five years, or the ones before the going away party, but she hadn’t spent the past decade or so within arm’s reach.
“It didn’t work out,” she said.
“They don’t have jobs up there for someone with a fancy degree? I bet you could do a lot better than serving drinks.”
She blinked and for a second he thought she might turn around and walk away, abandoning her plea for help. “I took a break from school, lost my scholarship, and then dropped out,” she said.
“What?” He stared at her. “Dominic never said—”
“My dad didn’t know I’d quit school until recently. And I don’t think he told Dom,” she said quickly. “My brother has enough to worry about over there. Like not getting killed or . . .”
“Worse,” he supplied. Like losing a limb or a fellow soldier. Yeah, Noah knew plenty of guys who’d lost both. But he’d worried about losing respect for the band of brothers serving with him because they’d flat out refused to treat the woman busting her ass alongside them with an ounce of decency . . .
Except Dominic would probably have stepped in and saved the woman before she was attacked. Josie’s brother wouldn’t let the situation get beyond his control and then try to pick up the pieces.
“There are worse things than dying out there,” he added, trying to focus on the here and now, not the past he couldn’t change.
“Yes.”
He kept his gaze locked on her face as he stepped back and placed his hand on the door again. He was ready and willing to slam it closed. She could tempt and tease him, but he refused to take his eyes off her face. Hell, he knew better than to play chicken with her breasts. Right now, with the way he wanted her, he’d lose that game.
First, he needed some time to process. He wanted space to think about the fact that things hadn’t worked out for her in Portland. He needed her to leave before he pulled her close, wrapped his arms around her, and offered comfort. Before he begged to know every damn detail about what had happened.
No, he needed her gone. Because he’d learned one big life lesson from his time with the Marines: he wasn’t a hero. He couldn’t let old habits take over, pushing him to save her. He wanted Josie’s hands on him, her lips pressed against him . . . not her problems dumped at his feet. And if Josie was back in the town that had insisted on labeling her wild, holding her solely accountable for losing her panties in a hay wagon ride, then something had gone horr
ibly wrong in Portland.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t—”
“I need a job, Noah.” She wasn’t begging, merely stating a fact. But desperation and determination clung to her words. Never a good combination.
Noah sighed. “Do you have any waitressing or bartending experience?”
“Not exactly.” She forced a smile as she uncrossed her arms and riffled through the worn black leather shoulder bag. She withdrew a manila folder and handed it to him. “But I brought my resume.”
Propping the door open with his foot, he took the folder and opened it. He read over the resume and tried to figure out how a series of babysitting gigs related to serving the twenty-one-and-older crowd.
“You took a year off between working for these two families.” He glanced up. “To focus on school?”
“No.” Her smile faded. “I can serve drinks, Noah. I’m smart and I’m good with people. Especially strangers. And now that you’ve taken the “country” out of Big Buck’s, I’m guessing the locals don’t camp out at the bar anymore.”
“Some still do.” And they gave him hell for telling his dad to remove the mechanical bull. Five years and the people born and bred in this town still missed the machine that had put the “country” in Big Buck’s Country Bar. Some dropped by to visit the damn thing in his dad’s barn. But he’d bet no one had ridden it like Josie in the last five years.
He closed the folder and held it out to her. “Why are you so desperate to serve drinks?”